


Illimitable Isles

by sandares



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Dean/Cas Pinefest, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandares/pseuds/sandares
Summary: There are no secrets in life, just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface. Castiel married Meg so he would have something to hide behind. He's withdrawn into his secluded life of pretending, but after he meets Dean, everything starts to unravel.





	

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  The lovely [Mycolour](http://somuchcolour.tumblr.com) made gorgeous art for this, check it out [here!](http://somuchcolour.tumblr.com/post/157269879339/deancaspinefest-2017-illimitable-isles-by-sandares) And a thousand thanks to my beta, [braezenkitty](http://braezenkitty.tumblr.com/), who helped shape this story into a far better one. All the mistakes that remain are my own.  
>   
>  _Rating and warnings_
> 
> The rating is for mature themes and sexual content. All my content is meant to be read by adults only.
> 
> Please note that the only warnings I use on story tags are Archive Warnings (if they apply). _Further warnings or story points are not tagged._ Instead, further information and trigger warnings are listed on the [end notes.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9769700#work_endnotes) Click on that link if you have any concerns, or are just curious on specific story points.  
>   
>  You can also always contact me on [my tumblr](http://mayjuneday.tumblr.com/contact) if you have any questions. [Here's further information on ratings and how I tag.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sandares/profile)  
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

**One**

 

It’s started to snow when Castiel gets up. He draws open the thick curtains and looks up at the big, fat snowflakes floating in the sky. The sky is so bright that they appear gray against it.

Light fills his bedroom as he pulls on clothing. He doesn’t make his bed. He keeps the rest of the house immaculate, but he feels most comfortable in his room, so coffee mugs and open books often litter the surfaces.

Meg never comes in here.

She’s in the kitchen, eating a tuna sandwich. Their eyes meet across the room and Castiel looks away. Even though they've lived in this arrangement for years, the way Meg sometimes looks at him still throws him. It’s so knowing and there’s an intimacy in it that makes him uncomfortable.

“Morning, Clarence.”

“Good morning.”

“Tonight at six, don’t forget.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t.”

Meg raises a sarcastic eyebrow and that’s the extent of the conversation. She turns a page on the newspaper, eating her sandwich while Castiel gathers everything he’ll need for a late lunch. When he’s ready with the vegetable wok, Meg has gone to her room.

He takes his plate and a glass of water and walks through the hallway. He could eat in the kitchen, but he doesn't feel like running into Meg again. They both agreed on giving each other as much space as they needed when they moved here. Castiel has only been in Meg’s room once, a year ago. Meg only comes to his room when he hasn't gotten up from bed in weeks, which is incentive enough to keep hold of his schedule.

Glass clinks against porcelain as he places his lunch on the side table and turns on his laptop. He should start to work on the ancient Greek manuscripts that he’s translating together with the University of Chicago.

Instead, he watches the falling snow. The city opens up below him, the never-ending line of cars like an ouroboros circling the streets.

 

 

*

 

 

Dean gets the call to work in the late afternoon. His phone vibrates with an incoming text, and he answers quickly, confirming that he’s free for the late evening shift. He sits by his phone, waiting to see if someone else has snatched the shift before him.

His phone vibrates again.

“Yes!” For once he was faster in grabbing the shift than anyone else on the call sheet. Even though he’s spending all the time that he can at the garage, money continues to be tight. It’s always a bonus when he gets work through his side job.  

"What is it?" Charlie asks, her fingers quick on the keyboard.

"I got a shift."

Charlie makes a whooping noise next to him, and he checks the time. The gala starts at six, so he has to get there before five. If he leaves right now, he has time to go home, eat and get changed before traveling through the city to work.

"I've gotta go now if I wanna make it," he says, stuffing his textbooks in his bag. He waves at Charlie, who's too focused on her work to wave back at him, and heads out of the Galvin library. It’s started to snow while he was in the stuffy library, and Dean opens his mouth to catch snowflakes on his tongue, a childlike happiness spreading through him. Soft flakes reach his hair, trying to cling onto his leather jacket.

 

 

*

 

 

Castiel looks at his reflection, flattening his hair at one side. His suit is fitted for him, but he’s never been able to figure out the acceptable way of styling his hair.

Meg knocks on his door so Castiel knows that she’s ready to go. Her heels snap on the hallway, the sound muffling down the stairs when Castiel takes one last look in the mirror.

It will do.

Meg looks perfectly put together, her red dress glimmering in the light of the hallway, her hair artfully pulled back.

“You look beautiful,” Castiel says.

Meg smiles. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“No one. I just—”

Meg thrusts her hand at him, and Castiel takes it. “I’m teasing you, Clarence. Lighten up; you’re a few fake laughs and three glasses of wine away from being back in your room.”

Castiel stands next to her stiffly. “You shouldn’t call me Clarence.”

“Haven't you heard of pet names?”

Castiel squints, playing the perfect image of confused, even though he knows it’s not a good idea to wind Meg up. “We don’t have a pet.”

“You have the worst sense of humor of anyone I know.” Meg opens the front door and turns to Castiel. “Do you have your keys with you? I’m going somewhere right after.”

Castiel lets go of her hand and pats down his pockets. He nods and then they’re off. The pavement is slippery with melting snow. The sky is empty for now, most of the fallen snow turned into gray slush gathering on the sidewalks. The trees in the city are bare, speckled along street corners, skeleton against the beginnings of winter.

 

 

*

 

 

A half an hour into the gala and Dean’s already regretting accepting the shift in the first place. There’s a large part of him that intensely hates the snobs in their glittering dresses and perfectly measured smocks, eating small snacks that look like little piles of poop skewered with toothpicks.

The kitchen lacks air conditioning, and he’s sweating through the only dress shirt he owns while he piles small pieces of turd on his tray, setting them down symmetrically enough.

“Dean!” Benny shouts through the clatter, thrusting a tray at him. The elegant glasses of red wine sway with his movements. “Take these down the hall. Take the further exit and walk through the tables, it’ll be faster. I’ll take over here.”

Dean slips the rubber gloves into the bin and takes hold of the tray, walking quickly through the influx of waiters and waitresses moving in and out of the kitchen.

He takes the steps back up and turns to the right, walking through a long corridor. Quickly the people thin out, and Dean’s alone in taking the turn to the left. The corridor turns dark and pressing on the light switch repeatedly makes no difference. Dean walks through the darkness towards the glowing edges of the door, measuring his steps carefully when he takes the last of the stairs. He opens the door and runs straight into someone.

“Shit!” The tray pitches and Dean attempts to straighten it, but it’s too late. Most of the glasses have already fallen over, spilling onto a white dress shirt. Dean just stands there for a moment, the curse echoing in his head, before he gets into action, trying to straighten the wine glasses that are still sapping onto white.

“Let me.” _Who the fuck stands in front of the service door?_ The dude takes the tray from Dean’s hands. He sets it down. One more wine glass clatters on the floor, red wine pooling around them.

“Fuck,” Dean says. He looks down at their clothes. “I mean—Fuck.” He shouldn’t be talking like this in front of a guest. He’s probably gonna be thrown out of here, in ruined clothes and no job, even though it’s not really his fault, because who the fuck stands in front of the service door?

The dude is staring at him, and Dean tries a smile, licking his lips. “I mean, I’m sorry. I’m just—really sorry.” He looks around them, but thankfully most of the crowd is in the main hall, listening to the speech. “Right.”

The guy is still squinting at him. “Was I standing in your way?” He holds himself stiffly in the puddle of red wine, and he doesn’t seem to mind, even though his leather shoes look expensive.

Dean points behind himself at the big-ass sign over the door. _Service Door—Keep Clear!_

The guy flushes, looking down at Dean again. “I’m sorry.” His gaze settles somewhere on Dean’s chest, searching for Dean’s nameplate. “Dean,” he adds.

Dean crouches down and starts to gather all of the fallen glasses back on the tray, a few of them cracked in places. He really doesn’t expect the guy to come down to his level, the cracked pieces of glass glittering in his hands. The guy picks up another piece of glass and flinches, quickly drawing his hand away.

“Be careful,” Dean says and takes his hand in his own without thinking. The cut doesn’t look that deep. “We probably have some bandaids somewhere.” Dean gathers the two glasses still askew on the floor and does a quick wipe across the worst of the wine.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“I could come with you.”

Dean looks up at him. _Is this guy serious?_ “You really wanna use the service bathroom?” The guy shrugs, holding his hand in front of him. Blood is slowly trickling down his fingers.

“Well, come on, then.”

Dean swings through the door, not looking to see if he’s followed. They go down the dark stairs, and Dean dumps the mess of broken glass on a side table. He checks to see if the guy’s still following him as he takes a turn to the right, reaching the bathroom. Nobody is ever in these bathrooms, as there are plenty closer to the kitchen.

The bathroom light is yellow, and it flickers as Dean goes straight to the small metal cupboard behind the sinks.

The guy stands in the middle of the bathroom, holding onto his hand. For some reason that makes Dean snort.

“What?”

“Maybe wash your hand? The sink’s right there.” Dean points at it in a mock show of helpfulness. Dean finds the bandaids and shuts the cupboard door. “Why were you hiding in the corner, anyway? The speech was just starting.”

The guy just shrugs. He starts washing his hand, but he looks lost, gazing down at the blood trickling down the sink, pink now that it’s mixed with water.

Dean rolls his eyes. He grabs a towel and holds out his hand. The guy has nice hands, not that Dean’s an expert. Dean wraps his injured hand in the towel, pressing it tightly around him.

Dean looks up, clearing his throat. He didn’t realize that they were standing so closely together. He brushes the towel over the guy’s hand one more time and steps back, giving him one of the bandaids, already opened at one end.

“Are you allergic to this stuff?” Dean can’t meet his eyes, so he searches around for the trash can and pushes it towards them.

“What—you mean the bandaid?”

“Yeah.” Dean swallows. He doesn’t know why he’s rambling all of a sudden. “I’m allergic to it. To the glue.”

“I’m not.” Their eyes catch again. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t worry about it. And uh—you are?”

“I’m Castiel.”

“Right.” Dean looks down at his dress shirt and shakes his head. He gathers more towels in his hands and pushes a few of them at Castiel. “Benny might have a couple extra shirts on him. I’ll go and ask him.” He goes to leave before he turns back. “Unless you wanna come with me?”

Castiel startles. “Uh—”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It was a joke, c’mon.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

Dean’s still smiling when he comes back with two dress shirts. Castiel has opened his shirt, his shoes up on the counter next to the sinks. Dean hands him the shirt, averting his gaze. Dean’s quick in untucking his own ruined shirt and pulling it over his head. He wets a towel and scrubs at the dried wine on his chest. “This stuff is nasty,” he says, glancing at Castiel, but Castiel isn’t looking his way.

By the time he gets the new dress shirt buttoned up and tucked into place, he feels a bit better. There are a couple of splotches on his black trousers, but they’re barely visible. Castiel’s shoes are a lot worse off.

“I’ll compensate for the wine glasses,” Castiel says shortly. He isn’t looking in Dean’s direction as he starts to push his feet back into his ruined leather shoes.

“Right. Thanks for being so cool about this.”

Castiel finally turns back to Dean. His face is flushed. He holds his hands awkwardly to his sides, a questioning look on his face. He looks good.

“Yeah, you look fine. You probably missed the speech.”

“I don’t care.” Castiel reaches for Dean with his uninjured hand, and a glint of gold catches Dean’s eye. The ring on Castiel’s finger is cool against Dean’s hand. “Thank you for your help, Dean. I’ll return the shirt.”

Dean lingers in the bathroom for a moment after Castiel’s left, presumably to go back to his wife. Dean was already feeling nervous about slipping his number in the dress shirt he borrowed for Castiel, but now he feels downright idiotic.

It’s just another day. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and pulls a face.

 

 

*

 

 

The night is long and having his father chastise him for missing most of the speech doesn’t make it any better. Castiel tries his best, but sometimes it feels like he's never going to be enough for any of them.

They leave the party together, though Meg leaves him standing alone at the taxi stand. She kisses his cheek as she goes.

Castiel spends the taxi ride watching the streets go past, glittering shop-fronts blurring into trees standing in darkness. His finger still hurts, and he thinks about Dean and how he’s going to compensate for the harm he’s caused tonight. He didn’t think of asking for Dean’s number, which is probably for the best; Dean could’ve misunderstood the request. Dean’s a handsome man and he probably gets many propositions like that as it is.

Castiel leans his head against the cool window and closes his eyes to daydreams. Time floods through him, and then the car stops. He shivers, unable to meet the eyes of the cab driver as she hands back his credit card.

He takes the elevator to the highest floor and hangs his coat when he gets inside. The apartment is empty, somehow made more alien without Meg’s presence. He wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling like less than a visitor here. The air in his room is stuffy, so he opens a window, letting fresh winter air inside. The cold makes him feel better instantly, the slouch of his shoulders straightening. He closes the door; having it open makes him uneasy even when he’s home alone.

He pulls his trousers down with little care and unbuttons the borrowed white dress shirt. He catches his eyes in the mirror and then strips quickly out of the shirt, too. He tries to fold the shirt neatly, placing it on his bed and folding it one arm at a time. He wonders if he should wash it first and that’s when he notices the slip of paper inside the front pocket.

 

_Dean +1 722-803-9688_

 

Castiel looks down at the number, uncomprehending for a moment before he understands. Of course, Dean would think ahead and give Castiel a means of contacting him. Castiel will have to somehow get in contact with the catering company, too, to compensate for the wine glasses. Belatedly, he realizes that he didn’t even give Dean his full name.

He’s glad that his father wasn’t there to see him, his clothes ruined from the red wine. No one had commented on him wearing a different shirt for the rest of the evening. Even more than that, he’s glad that his father wasn’t there when they were getting changed in the bathroom.

Castiel places the phone number on his nightstand, and after a thought, he adds it as a new contact in his phone. It’s not as if Castiel would intentionally displace the slip of paper, but it’s better to be safe.

He ends up washing the shirt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Two**

 

It’s been two days since he added Dean’s number to his phone.

Dean’s shirt is folded with care on the top shelf of his closet. Castiel also bought him a new shirt in the same size to replace the ruined one, but he’s unsure if that’s stepping over some boundaries. Buying clothing for another person feels intimate, and Castiel doesn’t want to give the wrong impression.

Castiel doesn’t know why he’s procrastinating so much. Dean most probably already thinks that he’s a dick. First he ruined Dean’s clothing, broke expensive wine glasses and now, after being given all the means to do so, he still hasn’t taken care of it like he promised. Furthermore, he can’t let go of the thought that this will be the first and last time that he'll speak to Dean on the phone.

If he waits another day it will only become more unbearable.

He pushes the curtain aside and looks out the huge windows. The city is alive down below, in contrast to his encased life above, people walking down the street alone and in pairs.

He takes out his phone and searches for Dean’s name in his contacts.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean. This is Castiel.” There’s silence on the other line, and Castiel’s heart pounds. He looks at the cars driving down the street, singling out a car to focus on. He follows it with his eyes until it rounds a corner and disappears from sight. "From the charity gala."

“Oh—hi. I didn’t think you’d call.”

Castiel curses himself for waiting two days. “I’m sorry; I should’ve called right away.” Dean doesn’t say anything, and Castiel comes to a stop and moves the phone in his hands. “I should return your shirt.”

“Oh, right. That’s true.” Dean clears his throat and something shifts in the conversation. “Do you wanna come by Illinois Tech someday? That’s where you can find me most of the time.”

“That’s fine.” Castiel pauses. “And the name of the catering company— ”

“ _Blue Plate Catering._ If you're free, you could come right now. I’m at the Galvin library.”

Castiel looks down at the dirty sweat pants that he also sleeps in, most of the time. “I might have to shower first.”

Castiel brushes his hair neatly after the shower, even though he knows that it’ll be all over the place when it dries down. He sits on his bed and uncaps the bottle of lotion. The dry winter air is irritating his skin, so he goes through the familiar motions of rubbing lotion on his skin. His mother used to do this for him when he was a child. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind and walks over to his wardrobe. He’s not sure what to wear, so he settles on the old suit that he always wears when he goes out.

His trench coat is too cold for winter, but he finds that he needs the comfort of it. It’s not a long walk to the State/Lake station, where he takes the Green Line towards Ashland.

The Paul V. Galvin library is beautiful with its large rows of windows, but it also looks like it’ll be impossible to find Dean inside, so Castiel sends him a text.

 _Wait by the gray blob. Blue circles,_ Dean texts back. So Castiel stands by the sculpture erected by the stairway, nervous all of a sudden. A lot of people pass him by, but none of them are Dean. Castiel keeps his eyes trained on the main entrance. At last, he spots Dean, talking to a redhead while he tries to jam books in his bag. Castiel looks away quickly and pretends to study the sculpture.

The blue has rusted away in places, fitting around the gray cubes. Dean’s hand closes around his shoulder. “Hey, man. You’re looking in the wrong direction.” Dean grips both shoulder straps of his backpack and swings it around on his back. “And it’s a fucking ugly direction.”

They start to walk away from the library, flitting around the students. “You don’t like the sculpture?”

“It’s boring and ugly. They should’ve chosen a better one, but no one asked me. I’m kinda hungry, you wanna go eat?”

Dean has a charming smile. Castiel doesn’t know what to say, so he nods.

“We could go to Jimmy John’s. Seriously good sandwiches,” Dean says as they cross Siegel Field. “It’s not far from here.”

They walk the short distance to the sandwich place. Dean holds the door open for him and falls silent as Castiel browses the sandwiches. The place isn’t that crowded, but it’s getting closer to the evening. They sit down by the window, and Castiel starts to go through his leather bag. He closes his hand around the plastic bag inside and waits until Dean looks up from where he’s pushing his winter coat off his shoulders.

“What’s that?” Dean asks as Castiel plops the bag in front of him.

“Your shirt.”

“Yeah, but this one’s new—” Dean pulls out the dress shirt that Castiel picked out for him. “Castiel—this looks expensive.”

“I ruined your shirt, so I bought you a new one.”

Dean eyes him for a second, and then he just grins. “Thanks, man.” He feels the fabric between his fingers. ”It’s kinda above my paycheck.”

“I also called the catering company, so everything’s settled now.”

“Awesome. That’s just—thanks.”

The sandwiches are tasty, and Castiel realizes how hungry he is as he takes his first bite. “I like these.”

Dean just hums around his mouthful and then takes a sip of water. “How’d you get here? Do you live far away?”

“I took the L. I live close to Millennium Park.”

“Figures.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Of course you live close to Millennium Park.” Castiel looks around the sandwich shop, suddenly uncomfortable, and Dean’s voice softens. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“I come from money, but I don’t own the apartment. I don’t care much for it,” Castiel blurts out.

“Oh? Does your wife own it, then?”

Castiel looks down at his ring, running his finger over it in a practiced motion. “Her aunt bought it for us when we got married.”

Dean whistles. “That’s generous.”

“Yes. My parents are wealthy, but Meg’s family is rich.”

“Why don’t you like the place? Sounds like a dream come true to me.” Dean raises his eyebrows, and Castiel can guess at what he’s thinking.

“I know, I don’t mean that I’m not grateful for it. I am.” Dean shrugs and stuffs his face with the rest of his sandwich. Castiel looks down at his own one. He’s barely halfway through. “Do you want to leave?”

Dean shakes his head, brushing his mouth for crumbs. “Take your time. I was really hungry.”

Reassured, Castiel decides to steer the conversation to a safer topic. “What are you studying?”

“Engineering. I’ve still got a part-time job at the garage downtown, used to be full-time, but I got tired of that. So I thought a student loan would work better for me.” Dean laughs without humor. "What about you?"

“I mostly do translation. I majored in foreign languages.”

Dean smiles from across the table, and Castiel returns the smile.

Dean stays on Castiel's mind when he takes the L back into the city, the train rattling in its tracks. There are two men sitting close together on the seats next to him, and Castiel averts his gaze when he realizes that he's staring at them. He gets off at his stop, but instead of heading back home, he walks straight through Millennium Park to the shore.

He can't remember the last time he's been outside and not just getting in and out of taxis. It's a lot colder than a few weeks ago, too cold for his trench coat. The wind carries straight to his bones, but he doesn’t shiver. He keeps going until he reaches the pavement’s edge. He looks out at the open water, the horizon disappearing in the dark of the blue night. His breath mists in front of him, the lake already forming thin slices of ice at the edges of the city.

Castiel used to throw stones in Lake Michigan with his best friend as a child. They would form cracks in the ice together. Castiel’s not thought of him for a long time, the old hurt made numb by loss. The streetlights trail behind him in a slanted line as he walks the edge of the lake. Time feels insignificant when you tread the same stones for twenty years, even if you’re walking them alone now.

Castiel wishes that the city lights weren’t so bright. He’d like to see the stars for once. The snow continues to fall, and the snowflakes get larger. There’s a sudden blue blizzard heading towards the city once again.

 

 

*

 

 

Snow has gathered around the city for the last few nights. Dean’s been watching it fall from the small bedroom that he rents from Benny, buried deep in his homework.

Dean crosses the street and takes out his phone, unearthing one hand to the cold wind as he checks the address Castiel gave him yesterday. He quickly steps inside the correct building and waits for Castiel to buzz him inside. He’s nervous once he's up on the highest floor, and he rings the doorbell twice, for it takes Castiel a while to come to the door. Castiel looks frazzled when he opens the door. “I’m sorry; I didn’t hear it at first.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair. He looks good.

Dean raises the bottle of wine that he’s holding, and Castiel stares at him. “Red wine?”

“Yeah, we have such a good record with it. Might as well.” Dean smiles, and Castiel’s mouth lifts at one side.

The apartment is huge, the foyer the size of Dean’s bedroom. Dean shrugs off his coat, still shivering from the cold.

“Is it cold outside?” Castiel asks when he takes his coat, their fingers slipping together. He hangs it next to the trench coat he was wearing last time they saw each other.

“Yeah.” Dean follows Castiel into the kitchen, where a lasagna is sitting ready on the stove. “You seriously cooked?”

“I said I would.” Castiel looks at him, and something jolts inside Dean. He’s reminded once again how this is all a bad idea, but still he finds himself setting the table with Castiel, their hands brushing when Castiel hands him plates and wine glasses. “Careful,” Dean says.

The food is good, and the wine bottle sits half empty, Castiel’s eyes soft as he listens to Dean ramble on about the courses he's taking. It’s started to grow dark, the kitchen light weak on Castiel’s features. Dean’s just about to pour them more wine when there’s the sound of the front door opening. Castiel falls silent, so Dean concentrates on eating the last of his lasagna.

A woman with dark brown hair comes into the kitchen and pauses for a moment, staring at them. She smells strongly of alcohol. “A miracle,” she says with a slight slur.

Castiel sighs, clearly exasperated, and Dean feels awkward. He would’ve been uncomfortable in front of marital bliss, but that doesn’t mean he’s interested in taking part in an argument.

“Meg—”

“You’re out of your bedroom, with a guy—” Meg points at Dean. “It’s a miracle, Clarence.”

“It’s called dinner. Don’t call me Clarence.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “Sure. I had a nice dinner, too, thanks for asking.” She looks between them for a moment and scoffs. Her eyes travel to Castiel, and they exchange a look, Castiel’s posture stiff.

“Whatever. Have fun, boys.” And with that she turns and goes down the hall, disappearing into a dark room.

There’s a silence, her arrival effectively sobering Dean. He leans away from Castiel and tries to ignore the part of him that lights up because Castiel and Meg don’t seem to share a happy marriage. Everyone has problems, but having bedrooms of their own? That’s gotta be somewhere up there.

Castiel looks so tired and out of place that Dean reaches back in, placing his hand on both of Castiel’s. Castiel stares down at their hands and then looks up at Dean, his eyes dark in the low light.

“You wanna clear all of this away?” Dean says, his throat dry.

Castiel looks at the table, but doesn’t move his hands away. “You don’t need to. You’re the guest.”

“There’s still some wine left. And you haven’t shown me around the place,” Dean says as he empties the rest of the wine in both of their glasses.

Castiel leads him to the living room, and Dean gets his first look at the skyline. It’s beautiful, the lights glinting like stars with the way they slither around the buildings. Dean can't imagine waking up to a scenery like this every day. Castiel downs his wine quickly next to him.

“I should take a picture of this,” Dean says in a low voice, breaking the silence. ”My brother still doesn’t like Chicago. He thinks it’s too cold in the winter.”

“Where does he live?”

Dean smiles, showing his teeth. “Florida.”

“I’m not sure if a picture will help with that. It’s a beautiful city, but it's cold.” Dean stares at Castiel, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. Dean looks away, swallowing hard, his eyes back on the glimmering horizon of buildings.

“Too bad you can’t see Lake Michigan from here,” Dean says.

“My cousin owns the apartment on the street across from us. She got the lake view,” Meg says from behind them, startling them both.

Dean takes a step away from Castiel and nods at Meg. She's changed into black sweatpants and a tank top, her makeup washed away. “That must be nice.”

Meg laughs, the sound tired. “She doesn’t even live in it. Maybe I’ll buy it off her when our aunt dies. I’m her favorite.” Meg gets on her tiptoes and kisses Castiel on the cheek. “Good night.”

They both murmur back at Meg, and Dean quickly empties his wine glass, the moment broken. Castiel doesn’t meet his eyes.

Dean looks back at the skyline. The lights still glitter back at him.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s Saturday and Dean doesn’t want to get up. Charlie tried to make him come to a party tonight, but the streets are buried in snow and it reflects in his mood. He burrows under the blankets.

He’s happy that he’s made a friend of Castiel. He’s been so busy with school and work that he’s hardly spent any time with the few friends that he does have, never mind making new ones.

They’re an unlikely pair, and even though they’ve not really talked since having dinner again the other night, Castiel sends him a continuous stream of cat photos on Facebook. Dean responds to each one, ignoring the twist in his chest.

He doesn’t want to get up from bed.

His phone pings next to him. He extends his arm lazily to grab it and opens the text. Quickly, he scrambles out of bed to fuss with his hair for a moment before he starts to dress in multiple layers. He’d asked Castiel to text him the next time he wants to go for a walk around Millennium Park. It’s been an unusually cold winter so far, so he’s gonna need each and every extra layer.

He takes the bus and switches on to the L, texting Castiel from the train. He reaches Millennium Park around sunset and walks towards the shore, spotting a familiar silhouette against the icy lake. He taps Castiel on the shoulder.

Castiel is wearing a winter hat that’s too big for him. He smiles when he turns around, and Dean is helpless to do anything but smile back. Castiel’s eyes are bright, and Dean briefly wonders what Castiel sees when he looks at Dean.

The lake has started to freeze, snow gathering on the icy edges of it, forming black valleys where the water still seeps through. The sunset is breathtaking, the red hues reflecting on the cracked surface of the ice like a broken mirror. It’s Dean’s third winter here, but he’s never really stopped to look at the lake before.

“I wondered if you got lost,” Castiel says.

“C’mon, city boy. It takes me a while to get here; I took the bus and the L. But it’s pretty.”

“This is my favorite place in the city,” Castiel says and looks down at his feet. “But I’ve been standing here for some time. Let’s walk.”

“Yeah, it’s cold. I’m wearing my thermal pants.” Castiel gives him a look, and Dean laughs. “Sexy, I know.”

“Do you want to get pizza later? Meg is out of town for a few days.” The snow crunches under their feet, and Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, even though his gloves are warm.

“Sounds good. Where’s she going this time?” Castiel doesn’t meet his eye and just shrugs. Dean hasn’t really pressured him to talk more about Meg and the palpable tension between them whenever they’re in the same room, but the curiosity itches under his skin. “She seems like she’s away a lot.”

“Her work keeps her busy.” Dean sighs, his breath visible in front of him in the cold. “I used to come to this park often as a child,” Castiel continues.

As a distraction tactic, it’s effective. Dean’s pathetically interested in learning new things about Castiel. “You grew up in Chicago?”

“Our father moved here when we were children.”

They cross the street and come up to the Buckingham Fountain. The statue looks out of place without water flowing through it, the stilted stones rising in segments. Snow blurs the buildings behind it.

“Fountains look sad in the winter," Dean says.

Castiel hums and brushes snow off of the carved blue stone. “They’re just in hibernation. Have you ever been to the Shedd Aquarium? It’s close by.”

Dean smiles, filled with a strange sense of endearment. Castiel keeps brushing the stone even after it's cleared of all snow, not looking at Dean.

“Lead the way,” Dean says.

The aquarium is huge, not like anything Dean’s seen before. Castiel pays the entrance fee for both of them, and for once Dean doesn’t say anything. He’s tight enough around money as it is, and he's fine with Castiel’s quiet acknowledgement of the fact.

It’s getting near closing time, so Castiel leads him straight past the tanks, taking his hand as he pulls him down a long corridor. They walk quickly until they reach the underwater viewing tunnel.

Sharks, rays, and fish all swim next to them, crisscrossing above Dean as they slow down, walking through the huge underwater tunnel. It leaves him with a sense of awe, but also the very real fear that the glass might break.

“It’s completely safe, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean realizes that he's holding tightly onto Castiel's hand. He lets go, pushing both of his hands in his pockets.

They stand side by side, watching as the sharks swim over them, their underbellies white and vulnerable. Dean gets a crick in his neck, sweating in his thermal pants. “It’s amazing,” Dean breathes out.

Slowly, they walk down the tunnel, reaching the large viewing room. They sit on the bench, silhouetted against the blue tanks. “We used to come here with my best friend Inias all the time." Castiel's voice is quiet, breaking through the fizzle of the pumps constantly feeding air into the tanks. "He always wanted to see the jellyfish, but this was my favorite spot."

Dean looks away from the tank, Castiel’s profile solemn beside him, the slope of his neck elegant against the blue glow of the water. “We used to spend all our school breaks at the lake with Sam after Mom died. I think I would’ve liked this the best, too.”

Castiel knows about his Mom. Dean isn’t sure what it is about Castiel, but he finds himself telling things to him that he normally keeps to himself. Castiel looks back at him, and Dean is caught staring. He feels the tension with his whole body. He sits unmoving next to Castiel, but there’s a reel running inside his mind; he could lean in and kiss him. In some parallel reality, maybe right this moment he’s doing just that. In some parallel reality where Castiel isn’t tethered to Meg in some reluctant show of love.

Dean swallows and looks away. He just needs to get over it if he wants to be a good friend to Castiel. He knows that Castiel is married, but he’s still sitting next to him in these thoughts, digging himself further into this helplessness. “We should probably go before they kick us out.”

Castiel takes a while to follow after him. They walk through the tunnel again, and Dean doesn’t even think of being afraid that the glass could break, the water swallowing them both in its depths.

 

 

*

 

 

His first thought is to get drunk, but he ends up calling Castiel instead. Castiel offers to pay for Dean to take a taxi to his place, but he's stubborn and takes the familiar route with the bus and the L, even though it means that he's stuck on transportation for a long time, stewing in his thoughts.

Castiel opens the door and the sight of him is enough to make Dean feel a bit better.

"Hey," Dean says. "Do you have any alcohol?"

Castiel slips past him while Dean dumps all his winter wear in a pile on the floor. Meg's not home tonight, and Dean has found that Castiel doesn't really care about stuff like that.

"Is whiskey okay?" Castiel calls out. Dean follows his voice into the kitchen and grabs two glasses from the cupboard.

"Yeah." He takes the bottle from Castiel and pours both of them a healthy amount. "Thanks," he says, clinking his glass against Castiel's. He takes a long drink, his eyes squeezing with the force of it. "Fuck."

Castiel doesn't ask him what's wrong. He just stands silently next to him and sips on his own drink. "Do you want to go up on the roof?"

"You can get up on the roof?"

Castiel smiles. Dean gets dressed in his winter jacket again while Castiel reaches for his trench coat. "Fuck if you're gonna wear that. Don't give me that look, I'm serious. You're gonna get pneumonia."

Castiel rolls his eyes and finds a winter jacket in one of the cupboards. They grab the bottle and glasses and get out of the apartment. Castiel leads him up a staircase and fumbles with his keys before opening the door.

The door is heavy with the wind blowing on it, and Dean finds himself almost gleeful because he's wearing his thermal pants. "You're still gonna freeze," he says.

"Shut up."

They walk over to a slab of concrete in the middle of the roof. Castiel sits down on it like he does this every other Thursday. Dean's slower in walking over to him. He stands next to him for a while, and Castiel looks up at him questioningly.

"You come here often?"

Castiel smiles. He either doesn't get the joke or he's ignoring it for Dean's benefit. "Sometimes. It's peaceful up here."

Dean sits down and opens the whiskey again. They’ve hardly made a dent in the bottle. "You want some?"

"Yes."

They sit silently next to each other, sipping on whiskey and looking down at the city. Dark has fallen fast, either smog or fog making the buildings blur out in the distance. The lights bleeding through the windows look eerie against it. The wind is merciless, and Dean's fingers freeze quickly around the glass. He can't seem to keep them warm even though he alternates the hand that he has in his pocket and the hand holding the glass.

"Did something happen?" Castiel finally asks. His eyes are on the horizon, but Dean feels like they're on him.

"Nah, not really. I had a shitty day. That Prof is still being a jerk and it just got to me today."

"So you wanted to get drunk?"

Dean grimaces. "Yeah. It's not the healthiest way to react."

"We all have our ways to cope," Castiel murmurs and it's true, though it makes Dean think about his dad and the way he used to react. Even celebrating Sam's birthday could turn into his dad emptying the bottles at a fast rate until he passed out on the couch. Dean used to fear that he'd choke on his vomit in his sleep.

"My mom died today," Dean blurts out. His hands are trembling. "I’m—it's her anniversary."

Castiel pours him more whiskey, and Dean drinks it down, shaking from the cold. They don't talk after that, but when Dean stands up, Castiel rises with him.

"I'm getting kinda cold." His voice is starting to slur, the drink finally catching up with him.

"Dean—"

Dean takes a few steps forward and leans his head on Castiel's shoulder. The whiskey makes him feel uncoordinated, and Castiel is steady against him. It takes a while, but Castiel's arms close around him. He doesn't know how long they stay like that, but Dean doesn't feel like drinking anymore.

"Do you want to go back inside?" Castiel's voice is close to his ear. Dean pulls away quickly, his thoughts racing inside his mind. They stare at each other until Dean draws back, licking his lips.

"Yeah, we should go."

Castiel holds onto him when they make their way back to the apartment, steadying him on the stairway. They stand in front of the closed door, and Castiel takes both of Dean’s hands in his own. “Your fingers are cold,” he says.

Dean starts with a laugh, because Castiel’s hands aren’t any warmer than Dean’s. “You’re one to—shit.” His phone rings in his pocket. He knows it’s Sam without looking at who’s calling. “It’s Sam. I’m just gonna—”

Castiel nods, opening the door. He looks back at Dean, who's digging for his phone. "Do you want to stay the night?" Dean looks up at him sharply.

He ends up sleeping on Castiel’s couch for the first time that night. He doesn’t want to stay in any of the cold guest rooms, so Castiel makes the couch for him while he’s on the phone in the hallway, talking to Sam while clicking on the light switch intermittently. When he comes back to the apartment, Castiel is halfway into his bedroom already, wearing gray sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Good night," he says. "I left a new toothbrush in the main bathroom for you."

"Thanks. Night." Dean can't help looking at Castiel when he turns around. Castiel closes his bedroom door with a soft click.

It feels weird to be alone in Castiel's living room at night. He's starting to understand Castiel's dislike for the place as he walks down the long corridor. The apartment is big and impersonal during the day and night only magnifies the effect. Dean brushes his teeth and leaves the toothbrush in a glass on the bathroom counter. He lays down on the couch, drawing the blanket over himself. The pillow smells like Castiel, and Dean wonders if he took it straight from his own bed.

Sam wasn't too happy with him, but he's never happy when Dean drinks. At least he hadn't said that Dean was turning into their father.

He stays awake for a long time in a half-drunk stupor, absently staring at the door that Castiel disappeared into. He presses his face further in the pillow.

When he finally falls asleep he doesn’t dream.

 

 

*

 

 

Dean finds himself continuously making excuses to end up in the city. Castiel has made it clear that his couch and numerous guest rooms are always free to Dean, and Dean's toothbrush has found a permanent spot in the main bathroom.

He would’ve ended up in the city tonight, too, if Charlie hadn’t cornered him when he was leaving the library. The bar close to the campus is convenient as it’s within walking distance from Charlie and Dorothy’s apartment.

"So, what's he like?" Charlie asks, running a finger over her bottle of beer. It's getting late and Dean has the beginnings of a headache from the long week. The crowded bar isn’t helping the pounding in his head. Maybe that’s why he decides on the truth.

"Married."

Charlie makes a face. "Ouch."

"Yeah. Like it's not enough when I fall for straight guys, but do they have to be married, too?"

"That's overkill. You should really try online dating. It worked for me."

Charlie met Dorothy through Moondoor, a popular medieval MMOG. Charlie has roped Dean into playing it with them many times, and he likes to pretend that he doesn't enjoy it as much as he does.

"I'm too fucking busy to date. When's the last time we saw each other?"

Charlie finishes her beer, holding up her finger. "We see each other all the time—"

"—at school."

"Touché."

Dorothy comes back to their table, sliding over new beers for all of them. Charlie cheers and makes room for her.

"Thanks," Dean says, taking a long gulp of beer.

"I'm just saying," Charlie continues, "you seem to find a lot of time to see this guy. I heard you turn down that job last week."

Dean feels his face heat up. He had turned down a job, but it was just because he’d already agreed to go to the movies with Castiel. "We're just friends. Just because I like him doesn't mean I shouldn't spend time with him."

Charlie and Dorothy exchange a look. Charlie takes her hand, completely ignoring Dean. "You want to tell him or should I?"

Dorothy shakes her head, turning back to Dean. "It's not looking good, Dean. You should cool it down."

Dean groans and thumps his head on the table, scrunching up his face when his forehead lands on sticky remains of spilled beer. It's not enough to make him lift his head back up.

"I'm not even doing anything," he mumbles.

Dorothy pats his head. "Now, can we talk about something else tonight?"

The night ends not long after, and he feels bad for dominating the conversation with Castiel. They nurse the rest of their beers listening to stories from Dorothy’s new job, and even though Dean tries his best to engage in the conversation, he feels his mind drift. Afterward, he walks alongside Charlie and Dorothy, silent as they laugh together, and he's kind of glad when they're standing in front of their apartment building.

"See you tomorrow," Dean says, already starting to turn towards home.

"Dean!" Charlie calls after him, and he turns back around. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Dean calls back. Charlie and Dorothy both wave at him, and Dean raises his hand back at them. He stands there, watching as Dorothy hugs Charlie to her when she opens the front door.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and clicks on Castiel’s name. He feels maudlin, scrolling quite far up their text thread before he can stop himself. He cancels their plans for the next day. He has to study, anyway.

Snow starts to drift down, melting on his fingers. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and goes home.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s late again when Dean walks home alone from the bus stop. It stopped snowing some time ago, and he treads along the plowed sidewalk. He hasn't seen Castiel since the bar night with Charlie and Dorothy, and the thought fills him with a longing that he doesn’t want to look at too closely. He tells himself that it's because he really has to focus on school right now.

Castiel had seemed disappointed, too, when Dean had again declined the offer of seeing him. It doesn't look like Castiel has a lot of friends. Most of the time he’s seemingly content to be trapped in that apartment, watching the world from a distance as he translates languages no one’s spoken in centuries.

Dean opens his front door. The house is dark and quiet; Benny and Andrea are fast asleep by now. It’s a task to undress all the different layers of clothing. He catches his reflection in the mirror, clothes pooling around him, wet from the snow. Get a grip, he mouths at the despondent curve of his mouth.

Unable to sleep, he tosses around, the bedding getting caught between his legs. During the long hours of early morning, Dean decides to keep Castiel at an arm’s length for now. Charlie and Dorothy are right—it's the only way to preserve their friendship for the long run and that's what's most important to Dean.

It’s easy to keep to the resolution when he slouches over books in the library night after night.

With all of his assignments finished Dean finally feels like he can breathe again. Benny and Andrea are away for the weekend, visiting Andrea’s parents in Rockford, and Dean doesn't have to work today because Garth switched their shifts around at the garage. So he finds himself spending the rest of Friday lounging around in his underwear, drinking beer and watching reruns of the Golden Girls. He’s just starting a new episode when his phone buzzes next to him. His heart starts to pound, and he tries to ignore it.

It’s only a few minutes before he has his phone in his hands, unlocking the screen. It’s Castiel. Dean has been keeping his distance for many days now, and he's unable to lie that he's still busy with school. Without a second thought, Dean invites him over. He downs the last of his beer and gets off the sofa, his left knee cracking with the movement.

Dean takes a quick shower because he stinks after marinating on the sofa for several hours. He gets dressed and calls in a pizza order for him and Castiel.

The living room is a bit of a mess, but Dean doesn’t think that Castiel will mind. It’s not like he’s trying to prove himself to Castiel in some way. They’re having pizza and beer as friends, and it’s all gonna be fine.

Still, Dean finds himself absentmindedly fluffing up the pillows, his hands nervous when he opens another bottle of beer. He doesn’t even know which brand of beer Castiel prefers.

Shit. He can feel himself start to derail, overthinking all of it again, and that’s when the doorbell rings. Dean curses, setting his beer down on the sofa table. He flattens his hair as he walks to the door, but it’s only the pizza man. Dean pays for the pizzas, cringing at the price, though it’s a lot less than what Castiel has bought for Dean over the course of their friendship.

Dean goes into the kitchen. He’s opening the first pizza on the counter when the doorbell rings again.

Castiel’s coat is wet from the snow. He’s holding a plastic bag, and Dean points at it. ”What did you get? And how’d you get here so fast?”

“I took the L and then a taxi.”

Dean realizes that he’s standing in the way, and so he steps aside. Castiel walks inside, brushing against Dean’s side. They head to the kitchen, and Castiel unearths chocolate and cheap beer from the bag. Dean takes the elaborate box in his hands, tied up in a Christmas-themed ribbon. There’s a porcelain snowman tied up inside the ribbon, for fuck’s sake.

Dean reads the fancy font on the side of the package: “ _Vosges Haut Chocolates, Exotic Truffle Collection._ Why, Cas?”

“I like them.” Dean eyes the box warily. “You’ll also like them.” Dean snorts.

Dean skips the grand tour and leads them into the living room, where Castiel opens a beer, sitting gingerly on the edge of the sofa. Dean rolls his eyes and sprawls next to him, tugging on the back of Castiel’s shirt. “You look like you have a stick up your ass.”

Dean can’t see Castiel’s face, but he’s sure that Castiel is rolling his eyes. The thought fills Dean with satisfaction, and he’s beaming back at Castiel when Castiel shoots a glare at him. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

Castiel just looks at him, but he does relax a bit, inching his back into the sofa. His thigh is hot against Dean’s, and Dean briefly thinks about moving away, but then he doesn’t want to look like he’s uncomfortable with such an innocent touch. How many times has he sprawled on the sofa with Benny or Andrea, just like he and Cas are doing right now?

“Did you want to watch something?” Castiel asks, and then Dean realizes that they’ve been sitting in front of a black TV screen for many long minutes. Adamantly not feeling awkward, Dean stretches over Castiel for the remote and switches the TV back on. He channel-surfs, pausing for a moment over the Golden Girls rerun that’s still running on Hallmark Channel, but he feels restless and presses on to the next channel.

Castiel makes a sound next to him when they land on a nature channel. Dean recognizes the voice of David Attenborough.

“You wanna watch this?” Dean asks and Castiel shrugs, but Dean can tell he’s interested. “Fine. Pass me my pizza.”

Castiel wordlessly hands him his pizza, and they eat in companionable silence while watching a documentary about coral reefs. Dean finishes his beer and grabs a couple more on his way back from the bathroom. He’s been drinking on and off for the whole day and he’s starting to feel it, his legs a bit uncoordinated when he gets back to the sofa.

He makes sure to fit his thigh against Castiel’s again. The touch comforts as much as it exhilarates, and Dean can’t help laughing when Castiel brings out the chocolates.

“Seriously, beer and chocolate? Don’t ever change, Cas.”

Castiel stares at Dean with a strange look in his eyes, and then he opens the box, slipping the porcelain snowman through the ribbon neatly. He hands it to Dean.

“What am I gonna do with this?” Dean asks, already knowing that he’s never gonna throw it away.

Castiel just shrugs, single-minded in getting a truffle in his mouth. Dean grabs one, too, not looking under the lid at the chart with all the possible fillings. Rich, dark chocolate fills his mouth. “Fuck,” Dean says, his mouth full with it. “I’ve been deprived my entire life.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, but Dean catches his smile in his profile.

Dean stretches out on the sofa, the narrative droning in and out on the disappearance of the coral reefs. Coral reefs dying sets out an insurmountable fear in Dean’s stomach that he doesn't want to think about, so he just picks out another chocolate, his arm stretching behind Castiel on the sofa while he sucks on it.

They reach the end. The credits start to roll against a backdrop of black, a somber piano song playing over them, and Castiel leans back into Dean’s arm. Dean keeps his eyes fixed on the rolling text on the screen while his thumb traces slowly down the back of Castiel’s neck.

The song reaches a crescendo, and Dean can feel Castiel turning his head towards him. Dean’s thumb stills and he faces Castiel.

Castiel has wide lips that have cracked in the middle with cold. Castiel catches him in his gaze and holds him there, unmoving. Dean can feel his stupid heart pounding in his chest, and with a dry click of his throat, he moves his thumb down Castiel’s neck in a caress.

Dean doesn’t know what to make of Castiel. He’s strange, but there’s something about him that turns Dean inside-out. Dean’s scared, but somehow he knows that Castiel is afraid, too.

The thought makes him bold, and he leans in, grazing his lips against Castiel’s cheek, and Castiel’s breath hitches. Castiel leans into Dean, their lips ghosting against each other before Dean pushes forward and then they’re kissing. Castiel’s lips are soft against him, Dean’s hand curling around his neck, their mouths moving slowly together. Dean draws back to wet his lips, their breathing shallow between them. Their lips touch lightly again, and then something feels like it’s breaking, and Castiel dives into the kiss, his mouth hot on Dean’s, his hands clinging onto Dean’s shirt, pulling him forwards.

Dean goes willingly, caressing down Castiel’s neck and back as he tips Castiel back on the sofa, his hips hovering over Castiel’s as the kiss deepens. Dean’s light-headed with the taste of Castiel’s lips. He draws back from the kiss, Castiel’s eyes opening.

Dean looks down at Castiel as he lowers his hips, a small gasp escaping him when he feels Castiel against him. Castiel makes a wounded sound when Dean starts to roll his hips, and Dean is filled with such tenderness that he feels like he can’t contain it, so he kisses Castiel again, his eyes closing.

Castiel’s hips hitch up to his, their rhythm a bit off, but Dean doesn’t care. He’s breathing heavily when Castiel draws out of the kiss, and it takes him a moment to register that Castiel is pushing on his shoulders, not drawing him in.

Dean stills his hips and pushes up on his arms, and he can hear the fear in his own voice when he asks: “What is it?” Dean can feel how heavy Castiel is against him. He draws further back when Castiel pushes on his shoulders again. He sits back on his knees, trying to catch Castiel’s expression.

Castiel’s face is flushed, his eyes dark as he twists a loose thread on the sofa cushion between them. “I’m not like that, Dean.”

Dean thinks of Meg, and he feels horrible. He was so caught up in his own suppressed desires that he didn’t think about Meg and what an absolutely horrible thing this is to do to her. He thinks about what Charlie and Dorothy would say if they knew. He winces. Castiel and Meg clearly have a problematic marriage, but they’ve gotten married for a reason. If love was lost in the way of things, this can’t be the answer to it.

“Me neither, Cas.” Castiel looks up at him, his mouth set in a thin line. He nods stiffly and starts to get up from the sofa when Dean catches his hand.

“Are you—are you gonna tell Meg?”

Castiel looks confused for a moment, squinting at him in an expression that Dean finds so familiar it stings. “Meg? No, I’m not going to tell her.”

Dean’s heart sinks. “Of course. Just—do what you feel is right.”

“I think I should go.”

Dean licks his lips. He can feel how hot his face is, his heart beating away in his chest. “Sure,” he says and it comes out rough. “I can call you a cab.”

“It’s fine.” Castiel is already in the hallway, pushing his boots on. Then he’s standing in front of Dean, wearing the droopy hat, fully dressed. “Goodbye, Dean.”

He’s out of the door before Dean can think of anything to say. Dean stands still, watching the closed door. He’s still breathing hard, and he can feel the break starting in his breathing.

He walks to the window with unsteady feet and pushes the curtains aside just enough so he can spot Castiel walking down the sidewalk. The street is empty, Castiel’s figure cut straight against the white snow. He’s walking steadily away from Dean.

He doesn’t look back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Three**

 

Meg keeps her life busy and separate from Castiel, but still, she does take notice when he’s holed up in his room for over two weeks.

She knocks on the door, but there’s no response. She rolls her eyes. Castiel can be melodramatic sometimes, but she still worries about him.

“Clarence?” She presses down on the door handle. It’s not locked, which is a good sign. “We agreed that we’d tell each other if we’re going away for longer periods of time.” She opens the door.

The room is dark, the curtains drawn. The still, stuffy air is all the indication that she needs to come to the conclusion that Castiel is going through one of his rougher periods of depression. There’s a lump in the bed. When Castiel gets like this he reminds Meg of her childhood cat, always burrowing himself in her bedding for the day.

She touches his arm under the bedding and shakes him. Castiel makes a sound from somewhere deep inside the blankets. She stands back and draws a chair next to the bed and sits down, pulling her legs up to her chest. She sits patiently, inspecting her fingernails, her eyes switching to the unmoving lump on the bed once in a while. Finally, she sighs and gets up to draw open the curtains.

It’s stopped snowing, the slush on the driveways painting the city gray.

She leans against the windowsill with her arms crossed when a head emerges from the bed.

“Good morning,” Meg says. Castiel blinks at her, and after a moment of consideration gives her the finger. “It’s good to know you’re alive.”

She takes a few measured steps forward and then comes to sit back on the chair, her arms still crossed. She starts to shake her leg, knowing the tapping sound drives Castiel crazy.

“Stop that.”

Meg doesn’t stop, forcing Castiel to unearth himself enough so that he can close a hand around her leg. “Fine,” Meg says. ”What happened?”

Castiel shrugs and it makes Meg roll her eyes. “When’s the last time you ate anything?” Castiel shrugs again, drawing the sheet back over himself.

“I’m gonna heat some soup for you, and then we can get back to the sharing and caring.” Castiel extends an arm through the blankets again. She gets the finger a second time and it makes her more pleased than she should be.

Meg goes to the kitchen and comes back shortly with a steaming cup of vegetable soup. She sets it down with a clank on the nightstand and throws a spoon on the bed. “Eat,” she says from her crouch on the chair.

This is how she got her cat to leave her bed, too. Castiel emerges again, and he starts to eat obediently enough.

“So, let’s go down the line.” Castiel sips his soup silently and doesn’t comment, so Meg continues. ”Can’t be your family, I would’ve heard if the dicks were up to something, and I mean that literally. Can’t be your work, dead languages rarely rock the boat.”

Their eyes meet over the bowl of soup. It’s like Castiel is silently challenging her, and Meg smiles. “I haven’t seen Dean around in some time.” Castiel looks down, concentrating on the soup.

“Bingo,” Meg whispers. “So, do I have to beat him up?”

“Meg—”

“Is he not treating you right? Is he not sucking your cock? Just tell me and I’ll take care of it for you.” Meg tries to keep the mirth out of her voice, but the way Castiel glares at her suggests that she’s not successful at all.

“You need to be serious about this. We’re married, Meg. Dean's just my friend.”

Meg rolls her eyes skyward. “You’re obsessed with doing the right thing, but do you ever think about doing the right thing for you?” She continues in a soft voice, “you do realize that we’re not gonna be married forever.”

Castiel looks up at her sharply, letting the soup in his spoon spill back in the bowl. “What do you mean?”

For the first time, Meg feels uneasy meeting Castiel’s eyes. She knows how much the marriage means to Castiel. “I have a girlfriend; I’m gonna want to marry her eventually.”

“You have—have you been discrete with her?”

“You think I’d ruin this for either of us?” She twirls a lock of hair in her fingers, stalling. ”I just need to wait until Aunt Lilith dies. She’s a homophobic horror, but we’re her favorites.”

“But she’s sick; it could only be months—”

“Yes. And then Ruby and I will get married, and we’ll rub our gay hands all over her money.”

Castiel sets the half-eaten bowl of soup on the nightstand, his face stricken. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”

Meg looks down at the cracks in her nail polish. “Ruby’s already made a list of her favorite LGBT charities we’re donating to. Did you honestly believe we would stay in this farce of a marriage for the rest of our lives? You can’t hide away from your family forever, Castiel. I know you try.”

Castiel burrows deeper into the pillows. “I’m not hiding.”

“You can’t hide away from Dean, either. Does he still think you’re married?” Castiel shrugs under the blankets, and Meg scoffs. “Your game is so off.”

“I’m not playing any games. And Dean’s not like me. He told me so himself.”

“Don't give me that, he's been all over you for months.” Castiel shakes his head. “You should talk to him. Maybe he’s just a hopeless closet case like you are.”

Meg can feel Castiel’s full gaze on her again. “I can’t help it, Meg. If my family ever found out—”

“What could they do? You’re no longer financially dependent on them. You only see them in situations that need a dress code.” Castiel just shakes his head again, biting his lip. “Or are you just ashamed?”

“Castiel,” she says and comes to sit next to him on the bed. She strokes her fingers through his sweaty, unwashed hair. Castiel sniffs and presses his head against her abdomen. She’s never seen him cry before. She stays in his bed while the sun goes down, leaving the colors in the room muted. Her eyes grow tired as she stares at the darkening wall opposite them, her fingers soft in Castiel’s hair.

Light has started to spill into the room again when she slips out of Castiel’s bed. Consoling Castiel on things she still sometimes struggles with is taking a toll on her. So even though a part of her wants to stay in bed with him for as long as it takes for him to feel better, she closes the door softly behind herself and walks down the corridor, yawning.

She goes to her bedroom and sits on her bed, her fingers trailing over the quilted cover. Her thoughts blur together in tiredness, and absurdly, she finds herself missing her childhood cat. Sometimes it felt like that cat was the only true friend she had. She’s mostly talked Ruby into getting one when they’re finally able to move in together. She closes her eyes, going limp on top of her bed. She’s so close to it all becoming a reality that she can taste it.

She plugs her phone in to charge it and calls Ruby, knowing that she’ll pick it up even though it’s most likely she’s still asleep.

“Hey,” she smiles into the phone. “Did I wake you up?”

 

 

*

 

 

Castiel has realized that avoiding Meg is creating more stress than facing her. He's getting tired of lying in bed with his neck at an odd angle as he squints at scanned manuscripts on his laptop, pretending that everything is in his control.

So after three days he shuffles into the living room despite hearing Meg clattering in the kitchen. He still feels uncomfortable as he heads into the kitchen, but Meg just glances at where he stands in the doorway. “Do you want some pasta?”

“Yes.”

“Great. You can make it, then.”

Castiel crosses over to the fridge and starts to pull out vegetables.

“I said pasta.”

“I’m making dinner,” Castiel says, holding a zucchini in his left hand. “It’ll include pasta.”

"Fine." Meg kisses his cheek and sits at the kitchen table. Castiel chops the vegetables, the water boiling on the stove while Meg flips through magazines. The silence isn’t too bad; it’s almost companionable.

The sauce is ready while the pasta still needs a few minutes to cook, so Castiel turns to where Meg's slouched at the table.

“Thank you, Meg.” She looks up at him, and it only makes Castiel feel more awkward. “I hope she makes you happy.”

“She does,” Meg says. She leans on her chin, turning another page on the magazine. “We’re getting a cat.”

 

 

*

 

 

Dean's on a bender the whole weekend, and his hangover extends long into the next week. He’s feeling morose enough that he skips a couple of lectures and calls in sick to the garage. Thankfully Benny and Andrea are both busy working, or else they’d probably be worried about his continuous moping around the apartment during the day. He’s tired of lying in his quiet room at night, trying to ignore their murmuring voices and the occasional laughter that bursts through the wall.

He can’t believe he got so in over his head for a married man. He’s too afraid of what Charlie or Sam would think of him, so he doesn’t tell anyone about what happened. He just stews in it alone as the days slowly turn into weeks.

He barely feels the snowflakes landing on his hair when he walks home from the library. It’s been three weeks since he last saw Castiel, and the few messages that he sent went unread and unanswered, so he assumes he's old news by now.

He doesn’t think too highly of himself, but he thought that he had a connection with Castiel. It extended beyond friendship, but it did start from friendship. Well, before Dean ruined it like he always ruins everything. He got to kiss Castiel, only for it to be the last time Dean saw him.

He’s engulfed in bitter thoughts and decides to cross the street to the small corner store. He buys a six-pack and a packet of tissues, trying not to feel too sorry for himself when he makes his way towards his house.

Someone is sitting on the porch steps, wearing a black leather jacket. When Dean comes closer, he recognizes her and pauses, the six-pack held weakly in his hands.

“Hello, Dean,” Meg says, and she has the same self-satisfied smile on her face that she always wears. Dean clears his throat and glances around the street behind them. “Don’t look so spooked,” Meg continues. ”Let’s go inside.”

Dean’s hands are sweating as he drops his winter coat in the hallway. The living room is a bit of a mess, clothes and dishes strewn around everywhere. It’s what happens with three busy people living under the same roof, but Dean can feel Meg’s eyes assessing the mess.

“Aren’t you gonna get me a beer?” Meg says, unzipping her leather jacket. She leans against the pillar separating the living room and the kitchen, snow already melting under her boots, and Dean retrieves a bottle opener from the kitchen. They share lukewarm beers together, and somehow this moment feels like the culmination of his fucked up, shit life.

The apprehension travels down to his bones, and he glances at Meg. She’s still smirking, her mouth curving up on one side. She looks like she knows a secret, and she’s enjoying it.

“How’d you find out where I live?” Dean wonders if she got the information from Castiel. Castiel said that he wouldn’t tell her. He said he wouldn’t tell her, and then he left.

“I have my ways.” Meg smiles fully. “It’s fun to watch you squirm, Dean.”

Dean grunts. He’s sure that his neck and ears are burning red. Meg sighs, the satisfaction evaporating from her face in a moment. “We’re getting a divorce.”

“I—you’re leaving Cas?”

Meg’s eyes are fierce, and Dean holds her gaze. “I’ll never leave him.” She tips back the bottle, gulps down beer and smacks her mouth. “But the marriage has run its course. Has he been in contact with you?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Good. If I can be right about something, it’s how stubborn he is.” Meg rolls her eyes, but there’s warmth in her expression. “You can quit sweating. The marriage was serving a purpose for both of us. Mine died two days ago. I’m inheriting Aunt Lilith's fortune and marrying my girlfriend as fast as we can get an ordained minister.”

Dean stares at her. “You mean—”

Meg looks like she’s nearing the end of her patience with him. “I’m worried about how it will affect Castiel. He’s deeply closeted and clinging onto the pretense a lot harder than I thought he was. He doesn’t realize that I'm trying to set him free.” Meg looks at him with a wistful expression. “Are you just playing around with him?”

Dean shakes his head again. Something in his expression convinces Meg, and she smiles genuinely for the first time during the conversation. “Good. Otherwise, I would cut your fucking balls off.”

Dean shivers. Meg’s fierce loyalty rubs him the wrong way. It takes him too long to realize that he’s feeling misplaced jealousy.

Meg puts the empty bottle down on the side table with little care. “Thanks for the shitty beer. I’ll be away tomorrow. Castiel usually works until six.” Meg hands him a spare key. He’s never needed one before—Castiel used to just buzz him in.

With that, Meg leaves, and Dean is filled with a sense of urgency. The key is burning in his pocket, and he wants to go see Castiel right this second. He desperately needs something to do with his hands, so he starts to clean the hungover mess of the living room. He brings handfuls of plates and utensils into the kitchen, soaking his hands in the dishwater.

By the time he’s done, he lies on his made-up bed in the middle of his clean room and puts on headphones. He crosses his legs and loses himself in the music with one thought clear in his mind: tomorrow he will see Castiel. He doesn’t know what will happen, but nothing can be worse than the last three weeks.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s an especially windy day. The wind makes the cold feel worse, so even though Dean’s dressed in all of his thermal-gear, he feels the chill. His fingers are ice-cold inside his gloves as he stands in front of the apartment building, turning the box of chocolates in his hands. They’d tied a small porcelain sparrow inside the ribbon this time. The fancy-ass things were so expensive that Dean doesn’t want to think about it.

People move past him, all of them looking like they’re in a hurry. Dean steels himself and fits the key in the lock. The door doesn't budge and for a moment he’s afraid he’s been the victim of a horrible joke, but he tries again, jamming the key hard into the lock and the door opens.

Dean tries to remember the last time he was this anxious as he ascends the floors in the elevator, tapping his fingers on the chocolate box. Standing in front of Castiel’s apartment, he doesn’t let himself overthink it anymore. He rings the doorbell.

Nothing happens for a long time, so Dean rings the doorbell again. Still, it takes many minutes for the door to creak open.

Castiel looks a bit rough, like he’s either been sleeping too much or too little. But Dean’s too busy staring at him to take further note. He clears his throat and thrusts the box of chocolates at Castiel, and Castiel takes them. Castiel turns the box side to side in his hands and then steps aside.

"You don't have to hang your coat," Castiel says as Dean takes off his winter jacket and boots, already uncomfortably warm in the thermal pants he’s wearing under his jeans. He follows Castiel to the living room, but Castiel doesn’t pause there, continuing down the hallway.

He opens the door to the right, and Dean walks in after him. Dean’s never been in Castiel’s bedroom before. It’s a large, rectangular room with a small couch, desk and a wardrobe at one end, and an unmade king-sized bed at the other. The windows are high, covered in deep velvet curtains. Castiel walks straight to the curtains, drawing them to one side.

The city looms large underneath them. Dean comes to stand next to Castiel. He doesn't know where to start with what he wants to say, so they just watch the long lines of cars driving below. Dean can feel the tension between them traveling through him. He looks down at Castiel’s side. Castiel has his fingers in a clenching fist.

Slowly, Castiel turns to him. He lays his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s arms go around him, his hand closing around the back of Castiel’s neck. His other hand travels down Castiel’s back, stroking his side. Castiel breathes out slowly, and Dean wants to hold him closer.

“Meg came to see me.”

Castiel only nods, like he expected Meg to do just that. “She likes to meddle.”

“She cares about you.” Dean pushes his fingers through Castiel’s hair. It’s started to snow again, the slowly drifting snowflakes catching on the city lights. “I kinda get her. She told me everything. She said—”

Castiel lifts his head, his eyes closed. Blindly, he leans into Dean. His lips touch the side of Dean’s mouth before they close on him. Dean circles his hand to Castiel’s cheek, stroking the stubbled skin as their mouths move together. Castiel deepens the kiss, licking along Dean’s lips, and Dean opens his mouth with a gasp. Soon they’re falling into each other, and Castiel is pushing him towards his bed.

Dean stills them by the bed, breaking the kiss to catch Castiel’s expression. “Are you doing okay?"

Castiel hesitates before he nods and catches Dean’s lower lip between his own.

"Your lips are so soft," Dean says when they're lying next to each other on the bed. They're both panting when Castiel breaks the kiss to get some air. Dean's hand trails down Castiel's side when Castiel turns to lie on his back.

Dean pulls away and looks at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing. “We don’t have to do anything,” he says. He turns his head towards Castiel. “I mean it. We could just—talk.”

The city lights illuminate the room, leaving most of Castiel's profile in the dark. "I know," Castiel says. He looks back at Dean, and Dean wishes they'd turned on the lights. It's hard to see Castiel's expression when he reaches for Dean again. Castiel’s eyes flutter, his hips pressing against Dean. Together they fumble with Castiel’s zipper, and Castiel lifts up his ass to shift down his jeans. There’s a wet patch on his underwear and Dean rubs his fingers against it, leaning down to kiss Castiel again.

Dean’s getting uncomfortable in his jeans, and so he rolls onto his back and opens his jeans. He shoves his underwear down along with the thermal pants and jeans.

Castiel leans against Dean’s side, staring down at him. There's a tense moment when Dean thinks that Castiel will pull away again, but Castiel leans down to kiss him instead. They're still kissing when Castiel pushes Dean's shirt up and closes his hand around him. Castiel’s grip is too loose, and his rhythm is off, but Dean could care less.

Dean breaks the kiss to push Castiel’s boxers down his hips, Dean's breath hitching. Dean opens his legs as much as he can with the thermal pants and jeans bunching around them and urges Castiel to lie between his legs. Castiel thrusts against him, slick against Dean’s stomach when Dean gets his hand between them. He presses both of them in his grip, and Castiel moans, thrusting his hips forward again.

"Wait a sec," Dean says, stilling him for a moment. The slide is wet enough, but Dean chafes easily, so he brings his other hand to his mouth. He wets it with long licks while Castiel shivers against him.

He gets his hand back around the both of them, jacking them in time with Castiel’s stuttering thrusts. Castiel’s arms start to shake around Dean, and he lets out a short, choked-off moan before he twitches in Dean’s hold, spilling between them. Dean takes longer to finish, his hand working quickly on himself. He stares right into Castiel’s blown eyes when the orgasm ripples through him.

He’s still staring at Castiel, shaking with aftershocks when Castiel lets his arms fall, his full weight closing on Dean. Castiel hides his face in Dean’s neck, and Dean lets him crowd around him for a while before he pushes at Castiel’s shoulders.

Castiel looks up at him, his eyes wet, and Dean kisses him. “You’re kinda heavy. And your belt buckle is pressing into my thigh.”

Castiel rises, shifting on his knees next to Dean. He looks self-conscious when he gets up from the bed, and Dean can’t blame him: they’re a mess.

Dean pushes his jeans down the rest of the way and struggles when they bunch up around his ankles. His shirt has ridden up to his elbows, and he takes it off, too, careful that he doesn't get spunk on it. Castiel disappears into the bathroom, and he’s gone for a long enough time that Dean starts to wonder if he’s doing okay in there. Meg did say hopelessly closeted, whatever she meant by that.

He’s still trying to decide if he wants to use his only shirt to clean the mess on his stomach when Castiel comes back to bed, shuffling over to him on his knees. He’s changed into plain white boxers and a gray t-shirt. He has a wet hand towel with him, and he hands it to Dean. Dean drops it on the nightstand when he's done and draws the sheet up to his stomach, looking at Castiel expectantly.

Castiel sits on his knees and looks down at Dean. “I thought I’d feel horrible afterward,” he says.

“Was that your first—”

“I’ve had sex with women before. It’s what my family wants from me.”

“That’s why you married Meg.”

Castiel rises on his knees and lies on his back next to Dean. “I was desperate at the time.” He swallows and closes his eyes. “It filled a need. My family first rejected me when I was caught kissing Inias. Meg changed everything for me; I was normal and accepted back into my family.”

“Shit. My dad wasn't really down with it, either. Though he never found out that I was fucking the neighbor’s son. I have no idea what he would’ve done if he’d found out.” Dean closes his mouth with a click. “What happened to Inias?”

“He has two children. He’s married, moved somewhere off the coast. I hope he isn‘t living with our guilt anymore.”

“You’ve got nothing to be guilty for.” Castiel hums and Dean can tell that he doesn’t really believe him.

And Dean doesn’t expect him to. The wounds from his own upbringing burrow deep inside of him, and he can only imagine how Castiel feels. He pulls on the sheet that's trapped under Castiel.

"You'll get cold," Dean says, lifting the corner of the sheet.

"No, I won't," Castiel says. He crawls under the sheet with Dean. His feet are icy against Dean's thigh, but his hand is warm where he traces his fingers over Dean's arm.

“Are you okay with what just happened?” Dean asks. Castiel's hand closes tightly over his arm and then smooths down to his fingers.

“It's—I want to do it again.”

Dean bends his neck to nip at Castiel’s bottom lip. “You’re kinda something special.”

“Am I?” There’s a hitch in Castiel’s breath.

“Yeah.”

Castiel sighs and presses his face against Dean's chest. Dean can feel how hot Castiel's cheek gets against him. “I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t even want to tell my family; I know how they’ll react. I just want to divorce Meg and never see them again.”

“You can do that,” Dean says, his fingers rubbing against the back of Castiel’s neck.

“I’m sorry I never told you the truth about Meg,” Castiel says. “I just couldn’t.”

Dean brushes his fingers through Castiel's hair. “I get it,” he says, and he really thinks that he does. Maybe Castiel never expected them to end up where they are now. Maybe deep down a part of him was hoping against it. Dean’s never dated a man again after things fizzled out with his neighbor. It’s easier to meet women and a lot more acceptable to have something beyond sex with women.

Dean presses a kiss on Castiel's hair.

 

 

*

 

 

They stay under the sheets until Dean says that he's hungry, and Castiel realizes that he's barely eaten anything today. Castiel orders pizza for them while Dean gets dressed in borrowed clothing. Dean goes to the bathroom, and Castiel stands in the middle of his bedroom, staring at the bed. He should really change the sheets, but instead he lies down on his side of the bed. The day has left him feeling raw.

He drifts off from exhaustion and startles when Dean nudges his shoulder. They eat pizza in bed, the TV muted in the background. Afterward, Dean brings out the chocolates.

Castiel knows that they were too expensive for Dean to buy for him. He lies on the bed while Dean unwraps the box. Dean hands Castiel the porcelain sparrow that’s tied up in the ribbon, kissing him on the cheek.

It’s a beautiful piece of porcelain. Castiel turns it in his hands and then sets it on the nightstand.

"Which one do you want?" Dean asks, his mouth already full of chocolate.

"I don't know." Castiel closes his eyes, but his mouth opens when Dean presses a truffle against his lips.

 

 

*

 

 

Castiel finds it hard to fall asleep with someone sleeping next to him. He stares at the wallpaper for most of the time, his eyes glassy. His heart is still pounding with the aftermath of what they did, and at the same time he’s unhappy and relieved that Dean has a lecture early in the morning. Absurdly, he already misses Dean.

But he also needs to sleep in his bed alone for the remainder of the morning. Castiel must’ve fallen asleep sometime in the early hours, because the next thing he knows, the bed is dipping down next to him. Dean shuffles around the room, clearly trying to be quiet, but failing to do so. Castiel lifts the sheet over his head when Dean runs into the side table and curses under his breath.

It’s blessedly quiet when Dean goes into the bathroom, but then he’s back in the room again, pulling his jeans up and closing the belt buckle with a clink. Castiel starts to drift off again when there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dean says, his thumb rubbing circles on Castiel over the sheet. Castiel grunts back, not even attempting speech. Dean lifts the sheet, and underneath it he presses his face close to Castiel’s, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m going now.”

Castiel blinks up at Dean’s eyes. They’re too close for him to focus on them properly, the light yellow as it filters through the sheet. Dean kisses him briefly on the mouth, his touch lingering. They break apart, Dean’s fingers caressing around Castiel’s cheek while Castiel covers his hand with his own.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I’ll call you later?”

“Yes,” Castiel grunts out, his throat dry. “Please.”

Dean leaves and the bed feels cold without him. Castiel stays under the sheet, so tired that the world tilts for a moment.

He opens his eyes. He’s standing in the dark, looking down a long corridor. He needs to find Dean so he starts to walk, and then he’s inside a house that belongs to no one. There’s a strange woman standing in the corner.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says. Castiel sits down and starts to spread lotion on his feet, but he can’t find the cap of the lotion bottle. He looks around and slowly he starts to recognize the muted yellow walls and the quilt hanging above the sofa. It’s like he’s watching a picture develop gradually before his eyes, the geometrical pattern of the sofa becoming more and more clear with every blink. It’s his parent’s living room, which doesn’t exist anymore. With a jolt, he recognizes the woman, and he starts to cry.

He crawls to sit next to his mother on the sofa. She uncaps the bottle and starts to spread lotion on his feet, rubbing it on his skin in circles.

Castiel stares at her, finding it difficult to breathe. The feeling is unbearable. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you,” he says. The words repeat in his mind like an echo.

He wakes up with a start, staring through the yellow sheet that’s still drawn over him. It’s a long time before he’s sliding back into dreams again.

 

 

*

 

 

When Castiel opens his eyes, it’s started to snow. The curtains are askew after Dean left, and Castiel stays in bed for a while, watching the snowflakes that drift past the parting in the curtains. He still feels groggy after the uneasy night of sleep, and he’s slow to get up, pulling on sweatpants between a yawn.

Meg is in the kitchen, tea brewing on the counter. Wordlessly, she hands Castiel a mug, ignoring the look he gives her.

“Is it decaf?”

Meg doesn’t answer him. She just pours another cup for herself. “Dean tried to sneak out in the morning.”

The tea is still hot and it burns Castiel’s mouth. He takes another gulp.

“You’ll burn yourself,” Meg says. They sit together at the kitchen table, Meg twirling a bottle cap between her fingers. Something in his eyes must give him away, for Meg takes his hand in both of hers. “I kind of freaked out with Ruby, too,” she says. "It gets better."

“Are you sure?” Castiel doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so vulnerable.

“Of course, she’s everything to me. And when have I ever lied to you?”

Castiel laughs low in his throat. “Never,” he says.

“Good. And Dean’s clear.” Castiel searches Meg’s face. “I gave him the talk, and he’s still here.”

“What did you say to Dean?”

Meg laughs and Castiel closes his fingers around his mug. It’s still hot, but it’s no longer scorching him.

“That you’re still my unicorn, whether we’re married or not.”

They don’t talk after that. Meg gets up from the table, emptying the tea leaves from the teapot. She bends down to dump them in the bin. “While we’re on the subject,” she says, “we’re still gonna need to be married for some time.”

She turns around and crosses her arms. “Once the inheritance goes through, I’m buying my cousin’s apartment. The process might take a while, but she already wants to sell it to us. Or in this case, to you.”

“Meg—”

“You’re not saying no, Clarence. You’ve always hated this place. You’ll take it.”

They stare at each other, and Castiel can tell that Meg’s not going to give up on this; just as she’s never given up on him.

He nods, and Meg smiles, satisfied.

The mug of tea is mostly lukewarm when Castiel drinks it down quickly. In his room he goes straight to the windows, setting the curtains aside with fast movements of his hands. He opens the window and cold air fills his lungs.

It’s a bright winter day, snow glittering on rooftops. The sky is a pale blue, almost as light as it is in spring. Castiel looks down at the cars glinting in the sun, and his mind drifts to Dean again. He thinks of waking up together in the morning and looking out at Lake Michigan open in the far distance. They could watch how the seasons change across it, the cold winter drawing past spring and summer. It’s just a daydream, but his heart twists almost painfully with how much he wants it.

If he closes his eyes, he can already imagine himself there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
>  _Complete list of trigger warnings/tags:_
> 
> Alcoholism, Homophobia, Internalized homophobia, Fake marriage, Cheating (but not really), Depression, Sex scene (Frottage)  
>  _Additional pairings:_ Meg/Ruby, Charlie/Dorothy (both in the background)
> 
> I'm trying to be as thorough as possible. Send me a note if you want me to add something as a warning. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Notes_
> 
> I set this in Chicago, but I've never set a foot in America, so consider this alternate universe Chicago that I made up with the help of Google Maps. I'm eternally envious of Dean's thermal pants BTW, it's been a cold winter back home and woollen leggings are expensive.
> 
> Internalized issues like what Castiel is dealing with are tough to face, so I hope I handled this right. Often the first person that LGBTQA+ people have to come out to is themselves. So here's to hoping that we'll all be able to accept ourselves for who we are and not feel shame. These kinds of 'Friend Marriages' exist in real life, and they won't stop existing until all forms of homophobia are weeded out of society, globally. Taking a stand is always important, but it's even more so in these times that we're living in right now. I wanna believe that it gets better.
> 
> I'm a freak as I often listen to a song on repeat for weeks at a time when I'm writing. [This song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOsW6BHzrD8) is what I listened to while writing this.
> 
> I can be found [here](http://mayjuneday.tumblr.com/) on my tumblr. Oh yeah, and I totally stole that bit in my summary from Dexter. It's a good line, so thanks!  
>   
> 


End file.
